


Wagering is most unladylike

by FLWhite



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Banter, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, F/M, Gambling, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FLWhite/pseuds/FLWhite
Summary: "Yes'm, pretty nice," Holmes did have an admirable Savannah drawl. "I think it's charmin'." He put down his glass, seized Irene's, and began to move the two around each other in figure eights. "I bet you dropped something properly awful in mine again, didn't you, Miss Adler.""If you keep calling me Miss Adler," said Irene icily, "I'll get to calling you Sherry."***Wherein Holmes pays a visit to Miss Adler, much is drunk, and some is spilt.Another of the old bits I'm dredging up. (Written 2010.)





	Wagering is most unladylike

"'s all right, my dear Miss Adler," slurred Sherlock Holmes, trying to look at the large stain spreading on the crotch of his trousers with one eye while smirking at Irene with the other. "Mrs Hudson is an ex--ex--very fine laundress."  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure she's very good." Irene poured them another round, spilling at least as much as she got into the shot glasses, and mopped with her sleeve at the lake of gin that had been the doom of Holmes's pants. "I'm sure she's just dandy."  
  
"D'you know," Holmes picked up his glass and eyed it, "I think your American accent's quite nice? Too bad it only comes out when you're right sloshed."  
  
"Oh really."  
  
"Yes'm, pretty nice," Holmes did have an admirable Savannah drawl. "I think it's charmin'." He put down his glass, seized Irene's, and began to move the two around each other in figure eights. "I bet you dropped something properly awful in mine again, didn't you, Miss Adler."  
  
"If you keep calling me Miss Adler," said Irene icily, "I'll get to calling you Sherry."  
  
"Oh, if that's what the young lady's wanting," Holmes grinned, "I'm sure the managers of this good establishment could be prevailed upon--" he was interrupted by Irene leaping up and knocking down the little table between them in an untidy fortissimo chord of crystal smashing and silverware clanking. Her rouged cheek bashed against his ferociously as she opened her mouth. Holmes, wincing at the sting, made the fatal error of opening his to say something caustic.  
  
Then he and his chair had been pushed to the carpet and he was panting around Irene's ravenous tongue and lips and teeth. "My...dear Miss Ad--"  
  
She closed her incisors sharply around his lower lip.  
  
"I-Irene!"  
  
"Mmm." She released his mouth to snarl at him through the veil of her very tiny hat, which had slipped most becomingly to just above her right ear. "Sherrrrry."  
  
"Irene, my dear young lady," Holmes said with as much care as he could, "Pray release me."  
  
"No."  
  
"Please." He tried to look humble.  
  
She snorted with laughter. "Are you feeling gassy or something?"  
  
"Indeed not," he replied with dignity. "It is merely that my foot is in the grate and I believe my shoelaces are catching fire."  
  
It was a quick job after his shoes had been removed to toss off jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. When she arrived at his trousers, Irene smiled rakishly. "Let's see how good of a laundress I am, shall we, Sherry?" And she began to laver the patch of damp with her tongue.  
  
"Quite... impressive," mumbled Holmes as he sank into the rich russet-and-blue embrace of the rug. "Oh yes."

***  
Holmes opened his eyes, then closed them again. "Quiet," he whispered to his body, which was screaming invectives at him as though he were a street urchin who'd just pilfered a pastry from its shelf. Or perhaps a half-dozen pastries. One foot was very cold and (when he tried to move it) came into painful contact with what was probably the bottom of the ottoman. His left arm had no feeling in it; with great caution he opened his eyes to make sure this limb was still attached to his shoulder and found the lovely sleep-soft face of Irene Adler, looking torn between disgust and self-satisfaction. "Good morning."  
  
"You owe me twenty quid."  
  
"What?" He wiggled his numbed fingers, wincing. "Why? I hadn't been alerted of such an appreciation in the cost of your services. Good deal dearer than Mrs Hudson's, certainly." He expected a slap, but she only graced him with a toothy grin.  
  
"I was two drinks ahead of you all the while, remember. Twenty, pay up."  
  
"Well." He pretended to fumble for his pocket. "It would appear that my money is not on my person. Nor, for that matter, is much else." Somehow his throat, which felt as though it were filled with sand, managed to grow even drier as he turned to face her. "Except yourself, Miss Adler."  
  
"Right." They looked at each other in silence. Holmes tried very hard not to notice the delicate purple shadows cast by Irene's lashes on her cheeks. "Well, Mr Holmes, here is your change." She gave him his wallet. They were again silent. Neither dared move.  
  
"There was only twenty in there."  
  
"Mm. So there was."  
  
"Wagering is most unladylike."  
  
"So it is." She looked away for a moment. Then, with a little smile directed at the ceiling, she sat up. The folds of her shift curled like wings under her; her dark tumbled hair pooled on and merged with the Persian swirls under her feet. Holmes fancied she sighed as she stood, but it was difficult to be sure as his heart beat excruciatingly loud and fast in his ears.  
  
"Shall I have the concierge call you a cab, Mr Holmes? You look in no condition to get home on your own."  
  
"Never mind, Miss Adler." With the aid of the elaborately scrolled footboard he was gingerly able to achieve a semblance of being upright. "I have done worse for myself before." Their knuckles touched when she passed him his belt, but that was all. He felt a nauseous weight in his belly as he edged--as slowly as possible--toward the door.  
  
"Mr Holmes." He dropped the hand he'd put on the doorknob as if it had burned him.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Here is your real change." Her face was six inches, four, then two, away from his. He felt the false wallet being changed for the real one, in which was still folded four five-pound notes.  
  
"Thank you, madam," he said, proud of how steadily he could look at her though she was imperceptibly drifting closer: one-and-a-half inches, one, half-inch. "Good day, then."  
  
"Good day." She kissed him. It was not the tenderest of kisses; her lips were dry, her tongue feverishly hot, and her face, at such close quarters in the bluish light, clearly weary. But he closed his eyes so he could not see what expression she wore when she pulled away, and kept them closed until she had shoved him backward into the corridor and the door had clicked to in its frame.


End file.
